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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25509115">I Need You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirtturtle665/pseuds/squirtturtle665'>squirtturtle665</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Inception Bingo 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Inception (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Inception Bingo, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Skin Hunger, Touch-Starved, quarantine fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:28:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25509115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirtturtle665/pseuds/squirtturtle665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Later, I will write about this longing, the intolerable deprivation of the other. I will write about the sadness that eats away at you, making you crazy. It will become the template for my books, in spite of myself. I wonder sometimes if I have ever written of anything else.”<br/>Lie With Me- Philippe Besson </p><p>Arthur has never needed someone so desperately before, but the only person who can help is hundreds of miles away.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur/Eames (Inception)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Inception Bingo 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Inception Trope/Kink Bingo 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the "Skin Hunger" square on my bingo card. Enjoy!<br/>Also, if you haven't read Lie With Me by Philippe Besson, I highly recommend it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Later, I will write about this longing, the intolerable deprivation of the other. I will write about the sadness that eats away at you, making you crazy. It will become the template for my books, in spite of myself. I wonder sometimes if I have ever written of anything else.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The cold Paris breeze dances across Arthur’s face. He hardly noticed how itchy his skin is before this happened, before he felt something other than his own hands touch him. He takes a deep breath of the night air from his balcony and prays the itch goes away on its own.</p><p>He knows it won’t.</p><p>He knows this is deeper than an itch.</p><p>Still, he tries focusing on the sounds of the cars honking below him, on the stars in the sky, on anything other than the burning inside him. Of course, his thoughts fall to Eames, the man who is hundreds of miles from him. He thinks of Eames’ laugh, low and guttural. He thinks of what it would be like for Eames to touch him again, not even sexually. He just wants to feel Eames’ hand in his or his strong arms holding him close after a nightmare. As another gust of wind knocks into him, Arthur groans in frustration and heads back inside his apartment.</p><p>It’s been nearly a month of quarantine now, and there’s no end in sight. Paris used to be Arthur’s favorite city, part of the reason why he and Eames bought this apartment, but he can’t stand the look of it now, having memorized the view from his balcony two weeks ago. It doesn’t help that his favorite person in the world is in Edinburgh, a place that, as cliché as it sounds, used to feel so close but has now never felt so far away.           </p><p>Arthur spends the next hour waiting for his nightly FaceTime with Eames by wrapping himself up in a blanket just to let himself feel <em>something</em>. Every fiber of the wool presses into his vibrating skin.</p><p>It’s not enough.</p><p>He’s going to implode.</p><p>His muscles tense, nerve endings on fire. Arthur tries to take deep breaths, knowing if he doesn’t get himself under control, Eames will notice. However, with each inhale, the blanket readjusts on his frame, and with each exhale, it sinks further into him, making it impossible for him to calm down.</p><p>He’s never experienced this before, this complete need and hunger to be with and be touched by another human. Arthur has always been better on his own, or so he’s convinced himself.</p><p>Right now, he’s convinced he’s never felt lonelier.</p><p>Instead of admitting to himself that he might just need Eames more than he realizes, he lets his bed threaten to swallow him whole. It isn’t another few minutes before Arthur’s phone starts ringing and Eames’ face fills his screen, bright and beautiful.</p><p>Arthur could cry at the sight of him.</p><p>He looks well-rested, happy, and for a split second, Arthur wonders if Eames misses him with the same ferocity that Arthur does. It sure doesn’t look like it.</p><p>To be fair, in the time between Arthur’s phone ringing and Eames’ face appearing, Arthur threw off the blanket, propped himself up in bed, and plastered on a smile, so maybe they’re both just hiding the loneliness and longing.</p><p>“Hi, Arthur,” Eames says, and Arthur could sob from just hearing his voice.</p><p>He clears his throat. “Hi.”</p><p>“How’s my love doing tonight?” Eames asks.</p><p>“Fine,” Arthur says much too quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. How are you? How was your day?”</p><p>The slight raise in Eames’ eyebrow does not go unnoticed by Arthur. He knows he won’t get through the conversation tonight without revealing the truth of how he feels. He’s a rubber band pulled tight, ready to snap.</p><p>For now, Eames allows the focus of the conversation to be turned on him. “I suppose I’m as good as I can be. It’s much of the same here since the job ended, as you know. I lay in bed, feel sorry for myself, miss you, et cetera, et cetera.”</p><p>Arthur hums out a response, visibly distracted by the curve of Eames’ jaw, by the stubble he’s allowed to grow there because he “can’t be arsed” to get rid of it.</p><p>As Eames drawls on about the local Edinburgh news, Arthur daydreams of what that beard would feel like against his own bare cheek, the scrape of it along his jaw or his neck as Eames peppers kisses against his skin.</p><p>He could moan at the thought of it.</p><p>“Am I boring you?” Eames asks, effectively dragging Arthur away from his thoughts.</p><p>Arthur’s eyes shoot open, not even realizing they had closed. “No, no. God, I’m sorry, I’m just…”</p><p>“Only kidding, darling, relax,” Eames responds with a smile Arthur can tell is forced. </p><p>Silence washes over the pair, and Arthur takes a deep breath. He never realized how hard this would be, to look at Eames and be able to hear him, but be helplessly unable to touch him.</p><p>“Right,” Eames says with a sigh, a sigh that means their small talk is over, “out with it.”</p><p>Arthur begins to fidget with his hands, picking at his cuticles. “Out with what?”</p><p>“Something is bothering you; I can tell.”</p><p>“I don’t-,”</p><p>“If you don’t want to talk about it, then that’s perfectly alright, but all I ask is that you don’t lie to me when I ask how you are next time.”</p><p>Arthur looks around the room, tries to find something that will ground him, stop his racing heart, but his eyes fall back on his phone screen, on Eames. Okay, he’s doing this. “No, no, I’ll talk about it. I just need a minute.”</p><p>His head is going a million miles a minute, trying to think of how to say “I miss you so much that I could scratch my skin raw” without making it sound… well, like that.</p><p>“Take your time,” Eames responds sweetly.</p><p>Arthur thinks about how to turn his clustered thoughts into coherent sentences and realizes it’ll take him a lot longer than one minute to do it. But, shit, he’s talking to Eames, the person he loves more than anything in the world. What he says to him doesn’t have to be perfect or business-like. It just has to be the truth.</p><p>“I- um,” Arthur starts, clearly having to force the words out, “haven’t really felt this before.”</p><p>“What’s ‘this?’”</p><p>“You know how I am with physical touch. I’ve never craved it, never wanted it before you. I loathed being touched by anyone, in any way. I enjoy my physical space and I despise when people can’t understand that. But then you, you just-,” Arthur finds himself getting lost in a memory of Eames. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at explaining this.”</p><p>Eames gives him a soft smile. “Doing just fine, love. Take a breath.”</p><p>Arthur takes a long breath in and a long breath out before continuing, still feeling a little overwhelmed. “I know you don’t remember the first time you touched me because it was so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but you were grabbing a file from my hand and touched my fingers. I almost caught on fire, Eames, I don’t know how else to put it.”</p><p>“You think I don’t remember that?” Eames asks, chuckling. “You looked at me like I was the one on fire.”</p><p>Arthur is grateful for this moment of lightness because he knows what’s coming next. The fear of vulnerability sits heavily on his chest. He feels this fear and says what he needs to anyway.</p><p>“I think I blacked out after that happened, honestly. I just remember thinking that I wanted you as close to me as possible and as far away from me as possible. It scared me, both the thought that you’d never touch me again and the thought that you would. This, what I’m feeling now, feels like that. Feels like after the first time you touched me, like I’ll never get to feel you again, only ten times worse.”</p><p>Arthur watches Eames shift positions in his bed so that he’s closer to the screen. “Hey now, none of that. You will get to. This is not a permanent thing.”</p><p>Arthur is flustered and past the point of stopping. Fuck worrying about sounding helpless or desperate; he is both of those things. “Yeah, but you’re <em>not</em> here, no matter how impermanent, and I know it’s neither of our faults, but I <em>need </em>you. I’ve never needed anyone, and it feels like I’m going to die if you don’t touch me soon, if I can’t just feel your hand on my face or your arms around me. I’ve never felt anything like this before, never craved someone like I crave water or food. It’s like I finally opened up to you and let you in and then you were ripped away from me, and maybe I’m being overdramatic but I can’t fucking breathe and everything hurts-,”</p><p>“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur,” Eames interrupts. “Stop for a moment, darling, and look at me. You can breathe. You can. Hey, look at me.” Arthur looks, teary-eyed, at Eames, whose face is filled with concern and worry. “There you go. With me, yeah? In and out, like this.”</p><p>Arthur shakes his head, still too worked up. “I need you, Eames. I’ve never needed someone so badly before, and I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>Eames looks frustrated, like he’s just as helpless as Arthur. “I know, I know. I’m right here. Not in the way you need me, darling, I know, but I’m here. Breathe with me for a bit, alright?”</p><p>Arthur watches Eames’ shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath he takes, and Arthur does his best to mimic him, forcing air into his lungs. This is the closest Arthur has come to having a panic attack in a while, and he feels dizzy and exhausted.</p><p>But he feels a bit lighter, too, like that weight on his chest has shifted, allowing him to feel some relief. He can breathe.</p><p>“Doing so well for me, love,” Eames praises. “Drink some water, and then we’ll talk this through when you’re ready.”</p><p>Arthur wordlessly nods and reaches for his water bottle on the end table. He gulps down nearly half of it and wipes the tears from his eyes before coming back to Eames.</p><p>“Okay,” he starts quietly. “I’m okay.”</p><p>“It’s killing me that I can’t be there with you right now.”</p><p>Arthur huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well, clearly it’s killing me, too.”</p><p>He doesn’t mean for it to sound so morbid, but given the events of the last few minutes, of the last week even, it isn’t far from the truth.</p><p>“Arthur, how long has it been like this?” Eames asks, and Arthur can tell he fears the answer.</p><p>Arthur shrugs. “I don’t know.” He’s scared of giving him an answer.</p><p>Eames sighs. “Sweetheart, please. Don’t shut me out again.”</p><p>“I- a week, maybe,” Arthur admits. “I’m sorry, I know you’re just trying to help. You’re the only one who can help.” </p><p>“But not unless I’m there with you,” Eames says sadly. “This fucking virus.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Arthur pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the oncoming tears away.</p><p>He doesn’t want to cry anymore, doesn’t want the pounding in his head to get worse. Then he’ll truly have no chance of getting any sleep tonight, not that he’s going to get much anyway.</p><p>“Listen to me,” Eames says. “You’re going to get through this. <em>We’re </em>going to get through this, and we’ll never be apart this long ever again, I promise you. I’m not letting you go once I get my hands on you.”</p><p>Eames’ words soothe the ache in Arthur’s heart and quell the hunger of his skin. Though there’s no end to this quarantine in sight, the end still exists somewhere just beyond. Knowing that end involves Eames’ warm body wrapped around his, Arthur smiles.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ll want you to.”</p><p>“Good. And I’m going to do everything I can until then to help you feel better.”</p><p>“There’s nothing you can do besides getting on a plane and coming home.”</p><p>“Ah, underestimating my creativity, are we? I’m offended, I truly am.”</p><p>Arthur rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”</p><p>“No, you don’t. Now, let’s see what we can do about getting you a good night’s rest, hmm? And then we’ll see what you say about my creativity,” Eames says with a wink.</p><p>Five days later, a box shows up at Arthur’s with three of Eames’ shirts and a giant blanket that smells just like him.</p><p>He gets through the next few weeks.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I realize the pandemic definitely isn't over, but for the sake of this fic, it is because I couldn't leave these two without some sort of happy ending. Hope you all are staying safe and healthy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur’s in bed, thrumming with excitement, when the apartment door opens. He’s wearing one of Eames’ shirts that he sent and holding Eames’ blanket close, although both have long since lost their familiar scent. Eames comes home tomorrow, hence the excitement and complete lack of tiredness at one in the morning.</p><p>Before getting into bed, Arthur thought it was nice to finally not want to sleep for another reason besides sadness and loneliness.</p><p>But then the apartment door opens. The only person in the world, besides Arthur, with a set of keys to this newly purchased apartment is Eames. Of course, this doesn’t cross Arthur’s mind right away because he’d rather not get his hopes up. The date of Eames’ return has been carved so deep in his mind for the last week that nothing could erase it and carve a new date, today’s date. If he was being rational, he’d know it was Eames who just walked through that door, but rationality went out the window a while ago.</p><p>No, Arthur is now convinced that someone has somehow copied his keys and broke into his apartment.        </p><p>He deals with the “threat” like he would deal with a small spider, with a roll of the eyes. He’s not afraid; rather, he pities the poor person who chose this apartment to rob. Arthur sighs and grabs his gun out of the bedside table. He can see light filtering in through the crack at the bottom of the bedroom door and wonders what kind of thief turns lights on during a robbery.</p><p>Nevertheless, he opens the bedroom door and looks out into the main living area to find rationality blindsiding him like a train barreling down a busy city street.</p><p>It’s Eames. Of-fucking-course it’s Eames.</p><p>“Oh,” Arthur breathes out. It’s all he can manage.</p><p>Arthur’s heart catches in his throat, and he’s suddenly frozen. He wonders which death would come quicker: the implosion of not being able to touch Eames for another second or the explosion when he finally does.</p><p>It doesn’t really matter anyway because Eames is right in front of him with a small smile on his face, his bags on the floor next to him. The juxtaposition of Eames surrounded by products of Arthur’s loneliness over the last few months – takeout bags and half-read books strewn all over the place – is doing things to his head.</p><p>Eames opens his arms. “Come here, baby.”</p><p>Before the three words can even hang in the air, Arthur is tossing his gun on a nearby chair and launching himself into Eames at full force. Eames stumbles back with a slight grunt until his calves hit the front of the couch and he falls onto it, taking Arthur with him.</p><p>After some adjustments, Arthur finds himself clinging to Eames like a koala, straddling his waist with his face buried in his neck. Eames’s hands rub up and down Arthur’s back, and the familiarity of his scent is enough to bring tears to Arthur’s eyes.</p><p>He can’t explain the sensations he’s feeling. He’s never needed to be in someone’s arms more, and now that he’s here, he never wants to let go.</p><p>Eames’ hands never rest too long in one place, knowing Arthur needs to feel him everywhere. When Eames runs his hand up the back of Arthur’s neck and into his hair, Arthur actually whimpers.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Eames says soothingly, sounding a little teary-eyed himself.</p><p>Arthur sniffles. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice slightly muffled. “I was planning on cleaning the place tomorrow.”</p><p>Eames laughs. “I don’t care. At all.”</p><p>Arthur sits up so he can look into Eames’ eyes, make sure it’s really him. Eames’ hand comes to Arthur’s jaw, and his eyes tell Arthur he’s doing the same thing.</p><p>When they finally kiss, Arthur knows. He knows this is Eames, well and truly here, in the flesh. He kisses Eames a few more times just to solidify the fact, and well, also because he hasn’t kissed Eames in months and the feeling makes his toes curl.</p><p>“Hi,” Arthur says against Eames’ lips.</p><p>“Hi, my love. Missed you so much.”</p><p>“Missed you, too,” Arthur says with a blush as he buries his head back into Eames’ shoulder, placing a few kisses to his neck. “How the fuck are you here?” he asks. Eames starts to move Arthur off of him, but Arthur just holds on to him tighter. “No, no. Just… explain.”</p><p>Arthur can feel Eames smile against him. “Called in a favor to a certain friend who owns an airline.”</p><p>“Saito?”</p><p>“Unless you know anyone else who owns an airline…,”</p><p>Arthur sits up again just so Eames can see him rolling his eyes. “Shut up, you,” he says, poking Eames in the chest. “Maybe I didn’t miss you as much as I thought I did.”</p><p>“Yeah? Get off of me then, darling.”</p><p>Arthur hums and responds, “No, I don’t think I will.”</p><p>Eames fiddles with the hem of Arthur’s shirt, <em>his </em>shirt. “Liked my little care package, did you?”</p><p>He sounds so damn smug with himself, and Arthur has missed him so much, has missed this so much, that he doesn’t even quip back.</p><p>“You know I did, only told you about a million times.”</p><p>Eames’ hands have finally settled around Arthur’s waist, and for the first time since Eames left for what was only supposed to be a week-long job, Arthur’s head is quiet. His body is quiet. He feels content, peaceful even.</p><p>He sighs happily, and Eames says, “Are you going to let me get up to unpack?”</p><p>Arthur shakes his head. “I think I remember you saying something about never letting go of me once you got your hands on me again, and I’m going to hold you to that, but I will let you take off all your clothes and then cuddle me to death on this couch.”</p><p>Eames raises an eyebrow at him. “Darling, we have a perfectly good bed in the other room.”</p><p>“Too far and I’m tired,” Arthur says, kissing Eames’ nose.</p><p>Eames maneuvers Arthur down onto the couch and looms large above him. “Whatever you want then, love.”</p><p>As Eames kisses him slowly, Arthur melts into the cushions, the craving deep within him finally sated.</p><p>           </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Does this even count as a skin hunger fic? I would've written smut, but I hate any smut I try to write, so... here have this? Thanks so much for reading!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for reading! Part two with their reunion will be up soon! Feel free to share your thoughts below :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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